Who Do You Think You Are?
by sharingan.swirl
Summary: Since the end of the War, Harry has found his calling to become a genealogist, though he won't work with wizarding families. Enter Draco Malfoy: Desperate to prove his pureblood lineage, but without the means. Will the two learn to work together or will the tension get the best of them? SLASH HPDM
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor am I making any money from writing this story.

A/N: Welcome! I'm working on a new story and want to know your thoughts. Here's the first chapter… please be kind. You may have seen some of my works on before, though this is a new story and I wanted to post it here first to see how you liked it.

I'm also looking for a beta/motivator – so please excuse any typos/errors. I tried to find all of them, but you know how it goes. If any of you are willing, please feel free to message me!

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"The Malfoy's are descendants from kings!" Draco cried, feeling harassed and more than a little buzzed from all the fine wine. He would blame the wine for the lack of composure he was showing. He knew his behavior wasn't helping his argument.

"Of course they're not. They have only claimed to be since the beginning of time because they are just that pompous." Pansy lifted a dainty hand, dismissively, feigning boredom.

"The Malfoy's can trace their lineage back for generations!" Draco took a breath, trying to compose himself. "For at least seven, if not more."

"Oh, come off it, Draco!" Blaise interjected hotly. "We don't care if you are or not! Just shut up and drink more. And relax!"

Draco accepted the offered glass of wine from his long-time friend. He was beginning to forget how this conversation had started. As he took a sip of the rich drink, he thought back.

"You know Blaise, if you hadn't brought up how 'prim and proper' I always behaved, which I believe you meant to have said 'controlled and poised', we wouldn't be having this argument. As I stated before, the way I behave practically runs in my veins," Draco sniffed.

Blaise muttered something under his breath, which Pansy caught and began to giggle.

Feeling indignant, knowing they were laughing at his expense, Draco merely lifted a brow at Blaise, waiting.

Rolling his eyes, Blaise explained. "I only said that you behave more like you have a stick up your arse than 'controlled and poised'."

Feeling anger rise up, Draco frowned. "I do not have a stick up my arse!"

"Oh, but you'd like that, wouldn't you? Might relieve some of that tension…" Pansy winked at him.

Having just taken a sip, Draco nearly sputtered it all over his friends. Pure hereditary control stopped him. "Excuse me?" Draco fought a blush.

"You heard me." Pansy smiled and took a sip of her wine.

"You're both impossible." Draco sulked, turning his attention to his glass.

The three friends were occupying one of Draco's sitting rooms, enjoying a Thursday evening at the Manor. It was a large modern styled room, tastefully decorated in silvers and golds. The sun had set long ago, only to be replaced by the full moon, peering in at the window. A fire was crackling, the three friends sprawled gracefully upon the couch and armchairs arranged so neatly before it. Oriental rugs covered the hardwood floors, candles glittered around the room, and mirrors gave the illusion of grandeur. The room would do for now, but it was only a matter of time before Draco got another wild hair and chose to redecorate it.

Expelling a large sigh, Blaise sat up, catching Draco's attention.

"If you're going to pout about it, then just show us your family tree. We'd rather suffer through the boredom of learning about where the dead Malfoy's came from than watch you pout." Pansy hissed and hit Blaise's arm. "Ouch! What? It's true!" Blaise smirked.

If Blaise hadn't just so blatantly offended his person and his family, Malfoy would have been amused at his friend's antics. As it was…

"Pout?! Boredom of dead Malfoy's?!" Draco stood, room swimming dangerously. "I'll have you know, Blaise, that dead Malfoy's don't pout!"

Pansy erupted with laughter and Blaise grinned.

Forgetting all ill feelings toward his best friends, Draco allowed a smile to grace his features.

"I will find the Malfoy tree and you will eat your words, Blaise!" Draco made to move toward the door, despite having no knowledge of where the tree would be, only to find his arm attached to Pansy's hand.

"Draco, love, you're plastered. Sit down before you fall down. You're supposed to be graceful, remember? Show us your family tree another time."

Contemplating Pansy's sound logic, Draco nodded. "Quite right, dear. I believe I will sit."

He did. Clumsily.

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"What do you mean there isn't a Malfoy family tree?" Draco felt his stomach drop. Inwardly, he was screaming his frustration. Outwardly, a calm and collected face looked to his father. They were in his father's study, surrounded by books and antique furnishings. The room breathed 'aged refinement'.

"There just isn't one, Draco. I don't know why." Lucius Malfoy's stony face peered at his son. "Why the interest?"

"It's nothing of great importance, Father. I'm reading a new book and the characters are researching their family line. Genealogy, they call it. It just got me thinking about where I come from." Draco learned how to lie from his father.

Nodding, Lucius stood from behind his grand desk. He strode purposefully over to a tall and dark bookshelf, his wizarding robes billowing after him. After perusing the titles, Lucius grabbed a large tome. One would have expected the book to be covered in dust if it had been in any other place other than Malfoy Manor. Placing the heavy book gently on a coffee table situated in front of a very uncomfortable but stylish couch, Lucius flipped to what must have been the direct center of the book. Curious, Draco inched forward, squinting to get a better look. Lucius motioned for Draco to come to him.

The center pages of the book were actually folded in, which Lucius took great care to unfold. Across the top of the pages was a crest, one that was black and silver. A sword pointed upward, appearing to bend the stripe that crossed the crest at an angle across the top. Two stars adorned the corners. Branching the crest were two greyhounds. Underneath it all, in large and ornate font were the words:

"The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black"

If he were any less disciplined, Draco's eyes would have widened and his jaw would have dropped. As it was, he merely swallowed and glanced toward his father.

"I cannot provide you the Malfoy family tree, but there is your mother's side." Lucius ghosted a hand over the diagram of the Black family tree.

"Mother's a Black?" Draco could have kicked himself for such a stupid question.

"Yes. They are a close second to the Malfoy's when it comes to pure bloodedness and wealth. Your mother's parents and mine arranged our marriage when we were very young." Draco almost detected a sigh. It could have been his imagination.

"So, I'm related to the blood traitor Sirius Black." Draco stated. Glancing at the family tree, Draco frowned very slightly. "I don't see his name on the tree." Indeed, there were several spots on the family tree where scorch marks took the place of where a person's name would have been.

Lucius' jaw tightened, and he nodded. "Yes. His name has been… removed from the tree. I believe he would have been here." Lucius pointed to the scorch mark next to the name "Regulus Black". Straightening, Lucius turned to Draco. "You can look at this for a long as you like. Please replace the book when you've finished." Turning away, Lucius strode out of the room.

Sighing, Draco looked back down to the Black family tree. While it was interesting, he was more than curious about all those scorch marks, it didn't help him in his quest to prove Blaise wrong. After studying it for a while longer, Draco carefully folded the pages back into the book and replaced the book on the shelf. The spine of the book gave itself the simple name of "Black".

Racking his brain as he was leaving his father's study, Draco wondered if there was any way he could discover and compose a family tree for the Malfoy's. He decided that if he were to start anywhere, it would be the Malfoy library.

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Nothing. There was absolutely nothing regarding the history of the Malfoy's. It was like all trace of the Malfoy's had been erased!

Draco had spent a fortnight in the library, searching high and low, for any mention, any detail, any sign that a Malfoy had been born, baptized, married, or died.

Nothing.

All he found were a couple of books about genealogy, which Draco knew he would find useful in his quest. He had already gained a basic knowledge of what questions to ask to whom, and where to start his search. He really would have preferred to hire somebody, but who in the wizarding world could he ask? The Malfoy's were too well known. If Draco approached another wizard to research the family tree, he would be a laughing stock! And there was also the matter of privacy. Sure, the Malfoy's had enough money to pay anybody off to keep their secrets, but that still wasn't any guarantee that the family secrets (if there were any to be found) would remain secret.

He was more than aware that his parents knew about his interest and were probably confused by it. His father had most likely gone to discuss the matter with his mother the afternoon Draco had asked to see his family tree. He knew that they had probably agreed that he could continue to do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn't jeopardize his well-being or the well-being of the Malfoy name.

One question did keep running through his mind while he was conducting his research.

'Why didn't anybody want to research this before? Why didn't anybody think it necessary that descendant's may want to know about their heritage?'

As far as he knew, every wizarding family, or at least every pureblood wizarding family had some sort of system, whether magical or not, that recorded the family bloodline through the male child. He just naturally assumed that the Malfoy's would have such a record. He was genuinely surprised to find out that they didn't. He knew all of the wizarding world who cared would be genuinely surprised. Not having a Malfoy family tree at all was enough of a jeopardy to the name. He couldn't let that continue. He needed to build the family tree and keep it preserved through generations.

Thoughts of how he could do this magically buzzed through his mind, but it all came back to a central focal point.

He was going to need help.

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Harry Potter sat hunched over a desk, squinting at a computer screen, trying to decipher barely legible handwriting on a document over 200 years old. The room was shrouded in shadows, the sun having set a long time ago. The computer screen cast an eerie glow on his face, reflecting faintly off his glasses. He was too engrossed in his work, his hobby, his passion, too caught up in the events of 200 years ago to notice that the room was dark. If he noticed, he probably wouldn't have cared much anyway.

"Fascinating," he whispered to himself. He was staring at a marriage certificate between a muggle man and a muggle woman. The fascinating part of it was, this marriage was a complete surprise. According to this document that Harry was viewing on his computer, John Parker wasn't only married to Elizabeth Johnson, like Harry had discovered before. John was married before, to a Rebecca McKinley, an Irishwoman by the looks of it. Harry would have to continue digging on Rebecca to find her history. But there was one more pressing question that could alter the lives of the family members who requested Harry's expertise.

Did John Parker and Rebecca McKinley have any children?

There could be a whole side to the Parker family that is undiscovered! Harry's heart sped up at the thought. Did Elizabeth know of Rebecca? What if John and Rebecca had children? Did Elizabeth know? Did John even know?

Harry quickly struck a few keys of the keyboard to save the document into the "Parker" file he had created months ago.

Still swimming in thoughts of drama, mysteries, and possible betrayal, Harry was startled by the overhead lights blaring on.

"Bugger! Don't you have any consideration for my already weakened eyes?" Harry screwed his eyes shut.

"I'm sure that staring at that bright computer screen in the middle of the dark is really helping them a great deal," came the sarcastic reply.

Harry smiled. "Aw, Hermione, don't get all motherly on me now."

Hermione snorted, unladylike. "Trust me, Harry. You don't want me to 'get all motherly on you'."

Harry pried open one eye, looking toward the direction where Hermione's voice floated from. And there she was, looking more angelic and saint-like than in all the years he'd known her. She had learned to tame her mane of ringlets over the years, which fell long and shiny, and wore very subtle makeup to accentuate her natural beauty. She was dressed in a smart pinstripe skirt suit and maroon robes, obviously having come from work.

She was holding coffee and a Tupperware container that held dinner.

"When are you going to divorce Ron and run away with me, love?" Harry swooned, staring at the paper coffee cup.

Hermione chucked. "As soon as you love me for my brain and good looks and not only the latte I'm holding."

"Damn." Harry breathed, smelling the coffee, hot and strong. "That's too bad."

Laughing, Hermione held the coffee aloft to her face as if to drink. "I should just take this for myself…"

"Hermione!" Heartbreak.

"But I love you too much." Hermione sighed. "Drown in it." She gave the cup over to Harry.

Grasping the cup like a lifeline, Harry took his first glorious sip of the latte. The strong and smooth bitterness flowed over his tongue and down his throat, lightly burning on the way down. Instantly, his shoulders relaxed, loving the warmth and comfort that the espresso and steamed milk gave him.

"And your dinner. Lasagna." Hermione placed the warmed Tupperware on the desk in front of Harry. "You need to eat, you crazy workaholic." Hermione's smile was full of affection.

"Yeah, yeah." Harry took another sip. "God, Hermione…"

"Keep your erection down, Harry!" Hermione laughed.

Chuckling, Harry placed the cup down. "Thank you! You're the true hero in this room." A 1000-watt smile lit his face as he looked at his long time friend. "What brings you here?"

"Just checking up on you, of course. It's a wonder you survive every day, honestly." Hermione took a look around the room. They were in Harry's study in his flat in muggle London. It was actually the second bedroom converted into an office, which was currently crammed with a desk and too many bookshelves for the room. Almost every available service was littered with old dirty dishes and too many coffee cups. Boxes filled with books and papers were strewn across the floor, still mostly packed despite Harry having moved in a month ago. "Still packed I see."

"Yeah, I'm unpacking on an as needed basis," Harry shrugged. "Just busy. I get caught up in this, you know." He gestured to his computer.

Hermione smiled knowingly. She knew the addiction of research very well. "What are you unraveling now, detective?"

Harry launched into the story of the Parkers and the mysterious Rebecca McKinley. "I didn't expect to get that marriage certificate back from Greg when I asked him to send me a copy of John Parker's marriage certificate. It was a real shock. I had to make sure it was the right John Parker. Same birthday, if you look here on the certificate." Harry had turned back to the computer and pointed. "It's got to be him!"

"Who's Greg?" Hermione asked, lifting a suggestive brow.

Harry didn't miss the implication. "Not who you would want it to be, I'm afraid," he said dryly and enjoyed the pout Hermione performed. "He's one of the guys at the county office I'm working with. And about 60 years old with two daughters he's already tried to set me up with." Harry cringed. "I haven't the heart to tell him I'm a shirt lifter. I'm afraid he'll keel over from a heart attack, his poor cholesterol and all that."

Hermione giggled. "Oh, Harry."

"Common. Let's get out of this stuffy room and to the kitchen. I have some delicious lasagna and a beautiful woman begging for my attention." He cast a wistful glance to his computer, already missing his research. Then he extended an arm and escorted Hermione through the boxes and into the rest of his flat, which was in a very similar state of disarray.

Hermione looked around and sighed. "How can you live in this, Harry?"

"Hm?" Harry glanced around. Boxes were still stacked in his living room; furniture was covered with knick-knacks and pictures. "It's not so bad. I don't even notice it really. I guess it would be embarrassing if I had guests over. But," he shrugged. "I'll worry about that when the time comes."

Hermione took it in stride. "Guess Ron and I aren't guests?" She lifted a brow in his direction.

"Nah, you're family," Harry said simply. Hermione beamed.

After finding a fork, Harry dug in while standing up and leaning against the counter, enjoying the stringy cheese and tangy sauce as it mixed with the bitterness of the coffee. Hermione leaned against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen, very used to Harry's eating habits.

"You shouldn't eat while standing up," she chided.

A pointed look in her direction had her rolling her eyes.

"Well, fine."

Another couple of minutes passed in silence, only interrupted by Harry's groans and moans of pleasure. Really, food was a religious experience for him. Food and coffee. Especially coffee.

"Not that I'm not very grateful for the food and coffee, but it seems to me that you didn't just stop by to give them to me. What's going on? You and Ron have another fight?" Harry inquired.

Hermione smiled. "No, not another fight. We're good. Great, actually." The light blush on her cheeks confirmed that. Harry relaxed a little. "But, I was thinking…"

"Here we go…" Harry groaned.

"Oh hush you!" Hermione laughed. "Harry, I think you should begin to do some genealogy work for wizarding families. At least think about it," she added hastily when Harry looked like he was about to protest.

"Hermione, you know wizards don't exactly need a genealogist. They have their magic spells and other old family secrets to pass down that kind of information. It's not needed. Plus," he gasped dramatically, "I'm the Chosen One! The Boy-Who-Lived! I'm Harry Potter! Nobody would leave me alone and I would get so many bogus requests to track down family lineages once they found out what I did with myself nowadays." Harry frowned in thought.

"Yes, I know that. But there's a way to get around all of that."

"Oh, really?" Harry raised a brow. "And how is that?"

"An alias," she said simply.

That gave Harry some pause. "Well, OK, sure, but that still doesn't solve the issue that there just isn't a need for a genealogist in the wizarding community."

"What about half-bloods and muggle borns? You should know, Harry. You had to dig out your own family tree using genealogy. That's how you became interested and how this whole thing started."

It was true. After the war had ended and everything had calmed down marginally, Harry was overwhelmed with questions about himself. He had spent so long focused on vanquishing the Dark Lord that he didn't spend too much time dwelling on growing up and discovering himself. He thought that maybe if he knew where his family came from, it would give him an idea of what kind of a person he was. It was a long couple of years, but eventually, Harry had completed his tree on the Evans and Potter side clear back to the 1500's. It was quite a journey and he learned a lot about himself in the process. The end result was Harry developing a passion for genealogy and it becoming his profession. At least, in the muggle world.

"Why are you so hell-bent on me starting up genealogy in the wizarding world?" Harry asked.

"Well," Hermione took a breath. "Ron and I are worried that you're trying to distance yourself from the wizarding world. I mean, we can't really blame you, after everything that's happened, but we would like you to be happy and comfortable in it and that means you would have to accept your position in the wizarding community, as dismal as that may be to you. As long as you're avoiding it, it's causing stress and anxiety on you. Wizards and witches won't make such a big deal about you anymore if you just make yourself more known and public. Odds are they would lose interest after a while. Right now, you're surrounded in mystery. Hardly anybody has even seen you since the War."

That gave Harry another thought to consider. Had he been running away?

After a long pause, Harry said, "I'll think about it." Hermione beamed again.

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Well, there it is. Thoughts? Love it? Hate it? Want more? Just let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor am I making any money from writing this story.

A/N: And here's chapter 2. I'm aiming for a chapter a week… maybe more frequent as the story grows. I'm just giving myself some time to keep writing. :)

Please review! I'd love to know your thoughts!

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Chapter 2

Draco slammed his current book closed and expelled a rather long and frustrated breath. It was very un-Malfoy-like behavior, but he was so fed up he didn't much care at the moment.

Genealogy was frustrating, boring, irritating, and a damn nuisance. He had been trying his hand at it for the last couple of weeks, but he still couldn't wrap his brain around what to look for, where to look for it, and what it all meant. It was rare, extremely rare, when Draco found something he didn't understand and pick up immediately. Draco usually avoided those subjects.

He had toyed with the idea of hiring a muggle, explaining about wizards and the like, but it would be such a headache to train the muggle and then to have to _Obliviate_ them after the whole mess was said and done.

Deciding he'd rather be drinking some tea in the garden, Draco stood and cast a wicked look to the desk piled high with books and papers. He strode from the room, grateful to leave the mess behind.

He found his mother in the garden, soaking up the sun. She was as beautiful as ever, pale and blond, slender but not as delicate as she looked. She had survived the War while married to a Death Eater and managed to come out unscathed. She was reading _The Daily Prophet, _which hadn't changed much since the War; Still bigoted, still articles about the elusive Harry Potter, still boring in its predictability. Draco usually liked to complete the crossword puzzles on the back of them rather than read any of the articles.

"Hello, Mother. Might I join you?"

Narcissa glanced up, her dark eyes warming at the sight of her son, and set her paper down slightly. He looked stressed and disheveled, a very unbecoming look for him, she decided. "Of course, Draco. You look a fright. What is causing this?"

Draco sighed dramatically and settled into one of the white wicker chairs. His mother occupied its mate and their tea sat upon the matching table between them. He took a moment to inhale, enjoying the scent of the roses that were laid out before them, and closed his eyes, tilting his head toward the sun. He'd been in that damn library too long, he mused.

"It's this genealogy mess, Mother. I don't understand it. Every time I pick up a new book on the subject, there are more processes I don't know or care to understand. I don't ever think I'll get to the bottom of this." Draco opened his eyes and began to pour himself some tea. "I want to hire somebody."

Narcissa pursed her lips. She knew what that would entail.

"Before you disagree with me, hear me out. I know it would look bad for a Malfoy to hire a genealogist to compose our family tree, but we haven't thought about ways to prevent the sure scandal. Maybe we could set an Unbreakable Vow for them to not divulge any secrets they find, or I would prefer a simple _Obliviate_ on the poor fellow. I just can't do this by myself." Draco sipped his tea and enjoyed the hot path down his throat. It seemed to soothe away every frustrating moment of the day.

"I know, dear. Those thoughts occurred to me, too. It's still too risky! We can't chance…"

"We also can't chance anybody finding out that the Malfoy's don't have a family tree!" Draco interrupted rudely.

Narcissa nodded. "But who would find out unless we tell them? It's not as if many people look around for those things much nowadays." She lifted a dismissive hand. Draco was beginning to think all of the women in his life did that.

'Must be a pureblood thing,' he thought.

"Well," Draco hesitated. "I may have told Pansy and Blaise that I'd show them my lineage, so I could prove to them that we're descendants from royalty of sorts." Draco hastily gulped more tea.

"You did _what?_" Narcissa hissed in an unladylike manner. "Oh, Draco…"

"Yes, Mother. I know now that I was wrong to do so. Please don't tell Father," Draco pleaded.

"Of course I won't tell your father. He'd keel over." Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "Why don't you just make up the family tree?"

"It'd be harder to make up a family tree and try to guess at everything than to actually do the research," Draco explained. "Plus, it may be a good resource for my children and my children's children to have. You know, if they're anything like me." Draco winked.

Narcissa always had the biggest soft spot for her son. She would serve the world to him on a silver platter if she could.

"Alright, dear. Do your research thoroughly before hiring somebody. I expect to know exactly who will be delving into our family's history. Now, pass me that scone." They enjoyed their afternoon tea and Draco put the thought of genealogy right out of his mind. It could wait another day.

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"Draco, dear!"

Draco almost let loose an animalistic growl at being interrupted. Almost.

As it was, he set down the letter he had been reading and glanced toward the door, where his mother's voice was drifting from the hall.

"Yes, Mother. In here."

His mother arrived in his personal study area, clutching that morning's _Daily Prophet_.

"There you are. Here, take a look at this." She set the newspaper down in front of him, pointing to a section.

**Genealogist for Hire**

_Curious about your family history?_

_Want to know where you came from?_

_Hire Henry Pickering to research _

_your family history!_

_Please owl The Daily Prophet for _

_more information._

Draco's gaze flew up to meet his mothers. She had a glint in her eye.

"I know you've been having trouble finding a wizard, this may be the man you're looking for." She smiled encouragingly.

It was true. It was almost two weeks since he asked his mother if he could hire somebody. He hadn't been able to find out anything about anybody being a genealogist. He could only ask so many questions to so many people before rumors started to fly. This advertisement seemed to be the answer to all of Draco's maladies on the subject.

"Excellent! I shall write _The Prophet_ at once." Draco reached for his quill and a fresh sheet of parchment.

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Shockingly for Harry, numerous owls showed up from _The Daily Prophet _bearing letters from wizards all over the country, asking for Henry Pickering. Hermione just cast him a knowing glance when she stopped by for a minute, dropping off lunch.

"Don't even say it," Harry warned.

Hermione just smiled and left without a word.

Harry was having a hard time trying to choose which ones to take on first, having finished the Parker family just last week. All of the letters seemed to be of the same caliber, just expressing a curiosity to know their families origins. He really didn't expect anything different.

Until he saw one letter that stood out from all the rest.

The writing was small, but neat, obviously from a gentleman of excellent education. That caused Harry some pause. Maybe a pureblood?

'That would certainly be interesting,' Harry mused.

The letter read:

_Dear Mr. Pickering,_

_I'm writing to you based on the information provided to me by The Daily Prophet. I'm assuming they're accurate in their information of you having performed genealogy work for the past four years since the War, and therefore, have extensive knowledge on the subject. Please correct me if this information is inaccurate._

_I am in great need of your services. However, there are circumstances that prevent me from relating to you exactly who I am and what I would like you to explore. I will require the very best of professionalism you have to offer and the utmost secrecy while conducting the research of my family._

_If you believe you can fulfill these requirements and are interested in working for me, please send your reply to The Daily Prophet. _

_Best Regards,_

_Anonymous Seeker_

Harry snorted to himself. 'Definitely a pureblood.'

His attention and curiosity was caught, though. This family must be well known if they want to keep their identity a secret. It was common knowledge that pureblood families know everything there is to know about their families. If one pureblood family was lacking that vital information, it could lead to questions as to the state of their blood.

Harry knew that he could keep the best of secrets. Often when dealing with family affairs there were things that were found out that nobody would want to have made public knowledge, or even family knowledge.

Also, odds were that whoever this pureblood family was, they would know who he was. They may also have been supporters of Voldemort in the War. He knew it would be entirely possible to conduct his research and never have to see the family, but Harry liked to be personable with the family. He never planned on sticking to his alias name while conducting the research, he just expected his clients to keep quiet about him. Now, he was thinking that it may just be a wiser idea to keep his identity a secret, as much as he loathed it.

'Or,' he thought, 'it might just be a way to ensure my secret keeping abilities if they also had leverage to keep my secret.'

Making up his mind, Harry reached for his quill.

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_Dear Mr. Seeker,_

_Your letter has intrigued me. I can assure you that I'm able to keep my mouth shut when absolutely necessary, which seems to be the case here. _

_To prove I'm a trustworthy source, let me tell you that the name Henry Pickering is actually an alias. I will explain who I really am and why I have an alias, and you may keep my own secret. In exchange, I won't tell anybody your secrets. _

_If this seems to be a fair transaction to you, please meet me at The Witch's Brew at 5PM, this Friday. There will be plenty of people there, of course, all hopefully wrapped up in their own business to be curious about us._

_I will await your presence. I will be the gentleman reading a book about genealogy. If you do not show, I will take that as a negative response._

_Thank you for this opportunity,_

_Mr. Pickering._

"Mother!" Draco practically shouted. Malfoy's never shouted. Thinking better of it, and getting a handle on his excitement, Draco snapped his fingers. The quiet pop of a house elf was the immediate response and Draco ordered it to reveal the location of his mother.

"She's in the library, Mr. Draco, sir," the elf squeaked.

Nodding, Draco stood from his desk, grabbing the letter he had just finished reading. He strode out of the room to the opposite side of the house, where the library was.

'You never know just how big this house is until you have to walk from one end to the other,' Draco thought sardonically.

Finding his mother in the library, Draco asked his mother to read the letter.

"Well, of course you must go, Draco. This is a perfect situation. You can ensure his secrecy. It's almost worthy of Slytherin house." A small smile graced her features.

"I thought so as well, Mother. I will let you know what I find out after meeting this… Mr. Pickering, for lack of a better name." Kissing his mother's cheek, Draco made a hasty exit. Now that that was settled, he had other business to attend to.

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Harry was hunched over his caramel macchiato, savoring the smells and the heat that radiated from his mug, seeping into his bones. It was unseasonably cold that evening and pouring rain and his coffee was definitely doing its job of chasing away the aches.

'Another reason to love coffee,' he thought to himself.

He had favored _The Witch's Brew_ for quite a few years now. They always had the best espresso, the best service, and the friendliest people, all of whom were coffee lovers and quick to suggest a new drink. While Harry may have been conspicuously absent from most of the wizarding world, Harry frequently haunted _The Witch's Brew _whenever he needed to get away from his current project or needed a good cup of coffee.

It's true that Englishmen were known for their favor in tea, but Harry far preferred coffee. He had a feeling that if modern coffee mediums had been available way back when, tea probably wouldn't have steeped so long in England's history. Now, it was only propriety that kept tea in the English household. Or so Harry liked to think.

Harry wasn't quite sure why he suggested _The Witch's Brew_ to "Mr. Seeker", but he would guess some of the top reasons would be because it was a comfortable atmosphere, people didn't butt into other people's business in the café and, of course, great coffee. Since the odds of "Mr. Seeker" being a pureblood were very high, and therefore, their steeped history of tea, Harry thought it would be amusing to see how they behaved in a coffee shop. Harry studied people in all forms; their history, their behaviors, their psyche. He found it all very interesting.

With the espresso warming his belly, Harry's attention was drawn to the other inhabitants of the coffee shop. There was Mrs. White, a plump elderly woman who frequently stopped in for an afternoon cup, more to catch up on the latest gossip than to enjoy the coffee. She was an odd one, Harry mused. She would cock her head slightly, listening in quite obviously to a nearby conversation and then relay the story to an acquaintance later on as the afternoon rolled by. Harry suspected that she invited more friends over to her home occasionally for tea, just to keep up the English tradition.

Then there was Mr. Wilson. He was Mrs. White's opposite in almost every way physically. Tall, gangly, and stiff shouldered, he always had to duck when entering the shop. He was known for his fedora, which always topped his head come rain or shine, and his green bowling bag, which served as his briefcase. From what Harry could tell, Mr. Wilson must have been a professor of some kind, he was always grading papers or reading something while in the café. Harry was willing to bet he was probably a professor of Music or Theater, with his eccentric flare.

There were plenty of characters that turned up at the café, some veterans and some rookies, which made Harry's latest game of "guess who's coming for coffee" a little more challenging that he thought it would be.

He wondered about the person he was meeting. Who was he? Or her, even? Their story, their history, their life. What was their genetic make-up? That was Harry's job and he loved to find the answer to that question. Often it wasn't what a person thought it would have been, due to last names being carried down. One of his clients found out she was more Irish than German, but because her family carried down a very Germanic last name, the Irish blood history was almost forgotten.

One thing Harry prided himself in was his ability to get along with practically everybody. When digging into somebody's personal family history, it was essential that he be trusted and he found that if he had a good relationship with the family he was researching, that trust was more easily founded. He hoped he could continue that streak with his next client.

Until Draco Malfoy entered _The Witch's Brew_.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Don't worry folks - they'll definitely see each other next chapter! You can wait a week, right?

Please review. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor am I making any money from this story.

A/N: SOO sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up! Life got a little busy. Got into grad school, joined a community band, work is busy... just life. :) Anyway, here's the moment you've all been waiting for! Enjoy!

And please review! Let me know what you'd like to happen! I'm at Chapter 5/6 now, it's getting tense!

Chapter 3

Briskly walking through the puddles of water on the sidewalk, Draco held an umbrella up for appearance's sake, as he had every known water-repelling charm applied full force to his person. The only reason he had the umbrella was because he had had to journey through a couple of muggle streets to get to _The Witch's Brew._

He was preoccupied with the subject of his pending meeting and nearly bowled over a woman exiting a shop, who glared at him harshly before scurrying down the lane. Forcing himself to stop, he glanced up and noticed that this was the place he needed to be. A wooden sign hung down from a pole above boasting the name of the establishment, _The Witch's Brew,_ along with a figure of a witch stirring a rather large cauldron.

'How uneconomical to be using a cauldron that size,' the potions expert in himself muttered.

Taking a breath, Draco pushed the door open and was embraced by the heady scent of coffee.

Draco had always enjoyed the scent of coffee, but never developed a taste for it. He had tried, since his mother enjoyed it in the evenings, but he found he could never find the right combination of cream or sugar. He wondered if this place served tea.

As he mused, his eyes cast a glance around the room, looking for a gentleman reading a book. There were a couple, but when his eyes clashed with wide green ones, he knew he didn't need to look any further.

Potter.

It all made sense, now that Draco knew. Of course Potter would want to know more about his family, which is probably how his genealogy career started, he concluded. Furthermore, the need for secrecy. How the wizarding world would explode when they found out that their own Savior was doing research on family genetic history! He would never get a moment's rest! Draco could almost pity him that. Almost.

Now, what to do with that information?

There honestly wasn't anything he could do. He knew that Potter had probably deduced that Draco was "Mr. Seeker" and would be able to keep his secret career secret by threat of exposing Draco's. In conclusion, Draco decided to just get the blood bath over with, make peace (or as much of it as they could), and get to work.

After all, Draco always got what he wanted. And right now he wanted his family tree.

All of these thoughts taking about two seconds, Draco tilted his mouth upward into an old and familiar smirk and headed toward Harry's table.

"Mr. Pickering," came the deep drawl. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Indeed," was Harry's short reply.

Harry's brain had also done some serious quick thinking when Malfoy had entered the café. He knew that Malfoy wanted secrecy, and it was obvious why. Harry also knew he wanted to do this job, especially since the Malfoy's were a very powerful and well known family. Of course, nobody would ever know what Harry was about to do for the Malfoy's, but the information could come in handy. Someday.

The only thing that Harry had to worry about right this moment, was to establish trust. Finding a needle in a haystack would have been easier.

Harry and Malfoy's personal history was a long and tremulous one. Even after the War, and the resulting Death Eater Trials, Malfoy always popped up when Harry least expected it, always to say just the right thing to get Harry fuming again. Though years had passed, and maturity had reached its peak, Malfoy always brought out the worst in Harry. Even Ron had made more than one comment about how Malfoy could always get under Harry's skin.

Putting on his mental game face, Harry gestured to the chair opposite him.

"Please have a seat, Malfoy."

Nodding his head, Malfoy took a few steps forward and pulled out the chair, seating himself with the best posture he could manage. Harry mentally rolled his eyes.

"Can I get you some coffee? What's your pleasure?" Harry tried a smile, 'tried' being the operative word. Harry felt that it came out more like a grimace.

Malfoy did grimace. "None for me, thank you. Do they serve tea?" Malfoy looked toward the bar, squinting toward the handwritten chalk menu.

"I'm sure they do, though I've never tried it. What kind?" Harry stood, preparing to make a break for the bar.

"Earl Grey is adequate," Malfoy waved a dismissive hand.

Gritting his teeth, Harry spun away and all but stalked to the bar.

"I should put milk in his tea… serves the git right,' Harry fumed.

Shaking himself, Harry ordered the tea and ordered himself to get some control. It wouldn't do to get angry with Malfoy before they even began to talk business.

Accepting the tea, Harry grabbed some sugar and a lemon slice before heading back to the table.

"I didn't know what you preferred in your tea," Harry said as he offered the sugar and lemon.

"Both, thank you." Malfoy busied himself by opening all of the sugar packets Harry provided and pouring them. Harry's jaw dropped. He had grabbed five.

"Are you trying to catch flies, Potter?" Malfoy drawled.

Harry snapped his jaw shut. "Hardly," he did his best to drawl back. "It's just twice now you've said 'thank-you' to me. Forgive me, it's a tad shocking."

Malfoy's lip curled up in a slight imitation of a smile. "Well, Potter, you could say 'you're welcome' instead of behaving like a heathen." His sharp grey eyes lifted to meet Harry's bright green ones.

Feeling a bolt of heat shoot through him, Harry nearly gasped. Filing the sensation away for further evaluation later, he nodded his head a fraction and said two simple words.

"You're welcome."

Harry was surprised to see the light on in his living room when he got home a few hours later. Knowing his wards were strong enough to kill any unwanted intruder, Harry knew it had to be a friendly face.

"Um, hello?" he cautioned.

A muffled curse and a crash of boxes sounded to the left. Harry peaked over seeing a cloud of dust and wild hair sticking out from between boxes. Wincing, Harry dropped his briefcase by the door and picked his way around the chaos.

"Mione?"

"I can't stand it!" Hermione all but screamed as she shot up off the ground, boxes flying to crash in an even more haphazard manner.

Blinking in surprise, Harry stuck out a hand to help steady the boxes and his friend from toppling over again.

"Uh, what can't you stand?"

"This mess!"

Even more confused, Harry looked around. As if seeing it for the first time, Harry felt a blush of shame crawl up his neck and face. There were almost all of his moving boxes, still mostly packed, but what made it more embarrassing was the dust covering them, the coffee cups, the dishes placed where ever most convenient, and… was that a dead mouse in the corner?!

Harry realized he couldn't remember the last time he had vacuumed. He didn't think he had vacuumed since he moved in.

"I'm sorry, Hermione…"

"Don't even start with me!" Hermione huffed. Grabbing her wand, she pointed it at Harry, who backed up quickly, almost upending another stack of boxes. "You listen here, Harry James Potter. You and I are going to get this apartment into tip top shape and we're going to do it now!"

"But, Hermione…"

"Don't you 'But Hermione' me! It's been almost two months since you moved in, Harry! Count them, two! Most people unpack and get all settled in a week or a month at most! What are you doing with yourself? It's not healthy!" Panting, Hermione turned around, surveying the disaster. "You work too hard, you don't have a place to relax. With all this dust, dirt, moldy food plates, and dead things, it's a wonder you haven't gotten sick."

So, she had seen the dead mouse, too, Harry mused.

"And!" She whirled back around, wand wild. "You have magic, Harry! Lots of it! Are you really so lazy and distracted that you can't wave your wand around and put things were they belong?" To demonstrate, Hermione flicked her wand at a box and immediately the box began to empty, the contents flying toward a nearby bookshelf. Nodding in satisfaction, Hermione looked back to Harry. "We're doing this now."

"It's nearly 8!" Harry truly didn't care what time it was, he just wanted to start digging on the Malfoy family history…

"Oh, stuff it. Grab your wand." Hermione began to chant and flick her way around the room.

Resigned, Harry pushed Malfoy to the back of his mind as best as he could. Nothing could compete with a woman on a rampage, especially if that woman was Hermione Granger.

Ron was a lucky man.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time Hermione and Harry collapsed on his freshly cleaned couch.

"Remind me to never let my flat get that dirty again," Harry moaned, head propped up by an armrest.

Hermione gave a weak chuckle. "You bet."

Harry peered over at his friend, who was occupying the other half of the couch, looking ready to pass out. "Won't Ron miss you?"

Hermione nodded her head. "He knows I'm here."

Harry grunted in reply. Ron could have at least warned him of Hermione's intentions.

"He would have warned you, but you were with your potential new customer," Hermione continued.

"Get out of my head." Harry's thoughts were suddenly thrown back to his encounter with Malfoy.

Hermione chuckled. "You're too easy to read. So, is it anybody we would know? Are you going to take the job?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm sworn to secrecy, but yes, it's somebody you know." He knew he should stick with as close to the truth as possible. He was a terrible liar. "I haven't decided if I'm going to take the job yet. He gave me a few things to look into, and it seems interesting enough, but it could be somewhat… difficult to work with him."

Hermione nodded. "I suspected as much. It's hard for people to just see you as you and not as The Chosen One. It may be difficult for them to trust you, as strange as that sounds."

Harry let Hermione believe that it was only his fame that would cause a difficult working relationship between himself and his client. He was skating on thin ice. If he went into any further detail, Hermione was bright enough to figure out that it was Malfoy he'd be working with.

Hermione moved to get up. "I best be getting back home. I'm sure you want to start working, though it is 2 A.M. I know you better than to think you'll be going to bed when you have a fresh case to work on." Hermione shook her head in amusement.

Harry merely grinned. "Of course, you're more than welcome to stay in the guest room for the night. I have it on good authority that you could eat off of the floor. Not that you'd want to."

Hermione laughed, tiredly. "I'm going home, Harry. Ron and I will be over soon to celebrate the clean place. And make it dirty for you again."

Harry gasped. "You wouldn't dare…"

Hermione patted his arm, finally standing. "Good night, Harry." She pecked his cheek and quickly left via floo.

After a quick mental debate, Harry decided that he did want to get started on the Malfoy family tree. He made his way into his newly organized office, where they had moved his briefcase containing what little Malfoy family information Malfoy could find. Malfoy really didn't have much, just a copy of his own birth certificate and Lucius Malfoy's birth certificate. Harry knew that Malfoy was only trying to help, but looking up birth certificates of living people was as easy as breathing to Harry now. He had his connections.

Harry stood up and made a quick detour to his kitchen. He was going to need some coffee.

A/N: And there you go. :) More Draco/Harry interaction in the next chapter, I promise.

Have a wonderful week!


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